


And So I Must Go

by CherryMilkshake



Category: Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Childhood Memories, Holiday Fic Exchange, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, POV Multiple, Recovered Memories, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 07:28:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13141911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryMilkshake/pseuds/CherryMilkshake
Summary: Some lucky people have a mark that matches the mark of their soulmate. The mark darkens as your paths come closer together, and lightens as you grow apart. (Should your partner die, it turns black.)Ike has a special mark on his wrist that he doesn't remember getting.





	And So I Must Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [charlesworthy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlesworthy/gifts).



> This was written for @[hardkourparcore](http://hardkourparcore.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for @[nagamas](http://nagamas.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I am a giant sucker for soulmate AUs, so it's actually surprising that this is the first one I've ever written. It's fitting that it's Ike/Soren though. My forever ship.
> 
> Enjoy!

[ _The sea calls my name_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nvYmxHN4z7k)  
[ _And so I must go_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nvYmxHN4z7k)  
[ _While they still sleep_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nvYmxHN4z7k)

There were many kinds of marks that could appear on skin. There were blemishes, of course, rashes or moles or scars. For the laguz, there were stripes and spots. But Ike had a special mark, right on the inside of his wrist, a green swirl that had appeared around the time his mother died, though he couldn't remember the day.

As a kid, it had been pale, so much so that at first, his father didn't notice it. It was Mist who pointed it out, her squeaky six year old voice accusing, "Dad! Ike painted on himself!"

"I did not!" Ike protested, covering the mark with his palm, but Greil held out his hand, his expression stern. Trying not to pout, Ike offered his father his right hand, the swirl a pale, pale green over the middle of his wrist. "It's _not_ paint," he said. "It just appeared there."

Greil nodded. "That's a very special mark, Ike." Greil rolled up his sleeve and showed the mark on his own wrist. It looked like ripples in a pond, but it was black. "Most people don't get one, but they run in your mother's family." He smiled sadly. "It means you've met the person with the potential to become the most important to you."

"Will _I_ get one?" Mist asked eagerly.

Greil smiled and ruffled his daughter's hair. "Maybe! Like I said, they run in your mother's family. You just haven't met that person yet, Mist."

Ike looked at the swirl, his brow furrowed. "But I don't remember meeting anyone," he said slowly. "Not anyone new."

There was a frown on his father's face. He stared at Ike's wrist for a long time, until they finished their meal and Ike went to bed. He looked at the swirl, trying to imagine what kind of person his partner was.

He wished he could remember.

+++

Soren often felt like the world was laughing at him. When he was young, adults had seen his magical talent and assumed the mark on his forehead was a Spirit's blessing, and then had abandoned him just as quickly when they realized it was not.

Then, he'd gotten a new mark, when he met the boy in the village. A green swirl, just on the inside of his right wrist. And he'd watched, day by day, as it faded softer and softer, until it was barely there at all. He didn't know what it meant.

Was the boy dead? Soren remembered the corpses of the villagers, but he had checked the bodies. The boy hadn't been among them. He decided he would go north, to the place called Crimea, a beorc place. And when he made that decision, he saw the mark darken.

Following its cue, Soren gathered supplies from the ruined village, and started north.

\--

In the library of the apostle, Soren found many answers. Some about what he was, and some about why the laguz shunned him. Those answers turned his stomach, imagining the circumstances of his birth that would have left him so abandoned. But he also found what the mark on his wrist could mean.

He undid the button on his sleeve and rolled it back, looking at the swirl. It had darkened a lot when he joined the Greil Mercenaries, becoming stark against the pale skin of his wrist. Gently, almost afraid, he traced the shape with his fingers.

Did Ike truly have the match? Had the world finally taken pity and given Soren something he could keep?

One of the books before him swam into focus, the small, careful letters detailing the way that beorc hated Branded, how the laguz shunned them. He imagined Ike hating him, turning him away for the crime of his birth.

He imagined the mark fading away completely.

Soren had to tell him. But gods, he didn't want to be alone again.

+++

Soren was acting strangely. Of course, Soren was hardly a bubbly man even on a good day, but he'd been distracted, his gaze drifting away, his hand wrapped tightly around his wrist. After two days of this, on top of the frustration of Begnion and being jerked around by the apostle, Ike couldn't ignore it any longer.

"Soren," he said that evening, when they had a moment alone. "Are you hurt? You've been holding your wrist quite a bit."

It was like it had been burned, Soren's hand pulled away so quickly. "I'm fine. Just thinking about things." He looked up at Ike. "I know you don't like having nothing to do."

Ike snorted. "That's an understatement. I'm tired of the apostle talking over my head, and I'm tired of her treating Elincia like she doesn't matter. Aren't they both nobles?"

Soren smiled. "There's a big difference between an empress and an exiled princess, Ike."

Ike didn't let him change the subject for long. "But really, Soren, what's wrong? You've been moody for days."

He hadn't expected Soren to talk about his upbringing. About not remembering his parents, about the woman he remembered first, then the sage who had _bought_ him from her, and then how he couldn't even _speak_. It was so desperately sad and Ike found his heart pounding too fast in his ears and his stomach roiling and Soren was _still talking_ , his gaze far away, his hand squeezing his wrist tightly as he spoke.

"Oh, I could read and write better than most of the villagers. And I could understand what they said. I just couldn’t talk. I couldn’t help it. The woman and the sage both used to hurl words at me. Unkind words, usually. But I never needed to answer, so—"

Ike grabbed his shoulders. "Soren!"

It was like Soren had been woken from a trance. His eyes snapped to Ike's, and Ike felt his stomach drop as he saw something like fear in Soren's eyes. Pushing Ike's hands away, Soren stepped back, as if composing himself. "I'm sorry, Ike, making you listen to such nonsense when you have plenty of other things to think about."

"Soren, it's not nonsense. That's just so. So incredibly sad. Where did this happen? Begnion?" He knew Soren wasn't from Crimea. He'd said as much when he joined the Mercenaries.

Soren looked at him for a long moment, and Ike would have sworn then and there on his father's grave that Soren's eyes had begun to swim with tears. But he turned away before Ike could be sure. "I'm sorry, excuse me, Ike."

He turned and walked away, leaving Ike bewildered and sad. He couldn't shake the feeling there had been something else Soren had wanted to tell him.

That night, when he undressed, unwrapping the spare bandages from his hands, he noticed his mark—which had darkened and brightened over the years—had faded slightly.

\--

Dealing with Duke Tanas and his sick fascination with Reyson hadn't helped Ike's mood. He was _so_ blasted finished with Begnion and its nobles, and on top of all of it, Soren's mood had _worsened_. He was holding Ike at arms' length, even though they were rooming together, as they usually did.

Ike knew it was bad when _Boyd_ noticed. "What's with Soren?" he asked at dinner, sitting down across from Ike as he bit into a chicken leg. "Normally you two are joined at the hip, but he's been treating you as if he'll catch something lately."

With a heavy sigh, Ike shrugged and pushed the food around his plate with his knife. "He was close to telling me the other day, but I guess I did something wrong."

Boyd frowned, clearly wracking his mind for something to say. "That's rough, buddy," he decided on. "I hope you can work it out."

"Yeah, me too," Ike said.

That night, he pretended to sleep until he heard Soren creep inside, then sat up. "Soren," he said.

Soren gasped quietly, half finishing a spell before he dropped the magic. "I thought you were asleep," he said.

"I know. But we have to talk, Soren. I've been thinking about what we talked about the other day and it doesn't add up. You went through unbelievably horrible circumstances and survived when few others would. Why are you insecure about who you are? Please, tell me everything."

Soren's hand closed around his wrist. "Curse you," he muttered. "I don't have anyone else, Ike, if I lose you…"

Ike got out of the bed and rested his hands on Soren's shoulders. "Soren, you're not going to lose me. You know me better than anyone else. Do you really think I'll turn away from you so easily?" He didn't know if he was imagining it, but it felt like the mark was warming against his skin as he spoke.

So, Soren sat down on his bed and talked more, about how he was something called a Branded, a person born of laguz and beorc parents, about how that was why there was nowhere for him to go. He touched the mark on his forehead as he explained, fingers curled as if he wished to claw it off.

Ike sat down beside him. "Alright," he said, trying to figure out how best to word all the feelings in his chest. "I understand." Soren stiffened, moving his hands to his knees, squeezing. "So?"

Soren looked up. "What?"

"So you're part laguz. And? What's the problem? Soren, you're my friend. We couldn't have gotten here without you." Ike was actually a bit offended. He liked the laguz—much more than Soren did, in fact—why would Soren think such an accident of birth would change anything?

Soren hesitated, his gaze fixed on Ike's own, brow slightly furrowed. "It was Gallia," he said suddenly. "Where the sage lived. After he died, I was starving. But." He looked away, flexing the fingers of his right hand. "But you… You helped me. You were the only one."

Ike felt a vice grip his heart and he looked at Soren wonderingly. "But I don't… remember."

Soren stood suddenly, still holding his wrist. "That's okay. I do. You're my only friend, Ike. I'm glad I have you."

But something was wrong. Despite clearly having intended to sleep, Soren left the room, closing the door tightly behind him.

+++

Ike didn't remember. He didn't have the match. That realization sat heavy in the pit of Soren's stomach. He remembered so vividly, the boy, the shock of wonder that had coursed through him when their hands touched, and the slow appearance of the mark, like ink on wet paper.

Soren returned to the library despite the late hour, pulling down the book he'd skimmed earlier, about soulmates, reading more carefully.

 _It is possible for soulmates to disconnect, should their paths diverge,_ he read, feeling that pit widen into a chasm, threatening to swallow him whole. He checked his wrist. It had faded slightly. But it didn't matter did it? Ike either didn't have the match, or worse, he did and didn't care about it. Soren wanted to cry, but tears wouldn't come.

It didn't matter, really. He wasn't going anywhere. There was nowhere _to_ go. The Mercenaries needed him. Ike needed him. And that was all that mattered.

\--

Luckily, things moved quickly after that, and Ike was too distracted to press him for answers he didn't know how to give. After Elincia got her throne, things returned to some kind of normal for Greil's Mercenaries, though now they were often hired by the crown.

His mark had darkened again, but nothing really had changed between them. He chalked it up to a mystery and continued his day to day, much calmer now than it had been in war time—though with the way Queen Elincia kept making enemies, he didn't wonder if the Mercenaries would find themselves dragged into a war again. At least a civil war would be more contained. And they could always retreat to Gallia if need be (though Soren wouldn't enjoy that).

And when Duke Bastian arrived at their door with an important and secretive mission, Soren was hardly surprised. What _did_ surprise him were the events of the evening after his departure. He and Ike were packing and checking supplies—typical for a longer mission like this. A crate of extra arrows fell from Soren's arms, the wood dragging through his sleeve. With a hiss, Soren rolled up his sleeve to assess the damage and pull out any splinters. He moved into the light of the sconce over the nightstand and fumbled for a pair of tweezers in the drawer, plucking out the small fragments of wood.

"You alright there, Soren?" Ike asked, peeking over his shoulder.

"I'm fine, thank you, Ike." He glanced over his shoulder to reassure him, but Ike had grown uncomfortably quiet. He was often quiet, but most days it was companionable, not like this—all furtive gazes and a mouth opening and closing, as if words wouldn't come. He was looking at the mark on Soren's wrist.

Slowly, he covered it. "It's a soul mark," he explained softly. "Though I don't know who… has the…"

Ike was unwrapping the bandage from his wrist, then turned it to face Soren, the same mark, in the same place.

"But." Soren swallowed, his chest tightening. "But you don't remember the day we met."

"No. But I also don't remember the day the mark appeared," Ike said softly. He stepped forward, pulling the tweezers from Soren's hand and setting them on the table. His fingers drifted over Soren's cheek, before he cupped it, running his broad, rough thumb over Soren's cheekbone. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.

"Why didn't _you_ tell _me_?" Soren challenged.

Ike smiled. "Fair. I never would have thought you were the match, though it seems obvious now." He chuckled, leaning his head down to touch his forehead to Soren's. A shudder went down Soren's spine as he brushed against the Brand, as if it really didn't mean anything at all. "I'm going to kiss you, Soren," he said softly.

Soren beat him to it.

+++

Ike thought he'd never know why he'd forgotten meeting Soren, but when he dueled Zelgius for the last time, he got the answer.

It was bittersweet. Remembering Soren came at the price of also remembering his father slaying the inhabitants of the village as well as his mother. Elena had protected him and Mist, grabbing the amulet before Greil could come near their home or Ike's frozen, trembling body, though it won her the blade Alondite through her stomach.

Remembering Soren was its own sort of pain.

He'd been so small, smaller even than Mist, with fingers and arms so thin Ike had wondered if he could even hold anything. He'd been sleeping when Ike approached, and had shot up, wide-eyed and wary, like a wild animal.

But he was so _frail_. Even at the age of eight, Ike couldn't stand it. So he'd offered the boy his lunch. It hadn't been much, just a sandwich, and he'd _resisted_ the gift at first, but when the boy had finally taken it, Ike could remember the fierce sense of wanting to protect him from anything that would hurt him.

The boy had refused to come home with him. ("But my mom would give you as many sandwiches as you want!" he'd cried, but the boy only glared.) So he'd promised to come back the next day. Had held out his pinky finger to swear and he could remember the fierce _joy_ that had shot through him when their hands met. The mark had appeared then, slowly expanding outward from the center, like ripples in a pond.

And then he'd gone home, determined to ask his mother for a proper feast to give the boy, and maybe he could bring her too, so that she could convince the boy to come home with them and give him proper warm clothes and good food and… and…

And then Ike had returned to the sight of his father cutting a farmer's head off.

Now, he could remember Sephiran and Zelgius, Sephiran looking down at him with sad, old eyes as he raised his staff over Ike's eyes and the entire day's events had faded away.

Soren noticed his return to their makeshift camp, running a Mend staff over the wounds he'd sustained in the duel. When he finished, Ike dropped his lips to the top of Soren's head, and took his hand, leading him away from the others.

"I remembered the day we met," he began. He focused on the memory of Soren, knowing that dwelling too long on his parents would be detrimental to the battle they were about to enter. But Soren was safe to think about. He talked about that, feeling Soren's pain when he looked down and murmured, "My only wish was to see you again."

Ike smiled gently, reaching out to hold Soren's hand as the tears began to gather in his voice. "Don't cry, Soren. It's okay. It's okay." He folded him into his arms.

"I'm not a child, Ike!" Soren huffed, even as his chin trembled.

"It's in the past," he whispered around the lump in his throat, both to Soren and himself. "We're together now." He held up Soren's hand, lining his own up to it, so that the soul marks just touched. "For better or for worse, we're together."

Soren smiled and laughed, wiping his eyes. "Always better, even if means following you into battle against a goddess who wants to kill us all."

"I'll protect you," Ike said.

Soren snorted and patted the blessed Rexcalibur tome at his hip. "No, I'll protect _you_ from getting surrounded like you always do because you insist on being the biggest target on the battlefield."

"I love you, Soren." Ike kissed his forehead. "We're going to win." When he said it to Soren, he almost believed it himself.

Warm lips pressed against his own as Soren stood on tiptoe to reach. "I love you too, Ike. And I know we will. I have faith in you."

Ike wouldn't let that faith be misplaced.

And it wasn't.

When Ashera fell, her spell broken, Ike took Soren's hand and together they walked down the tower, out into a restored world. "I can't stay here," Ike said. "I can't let the world keep dragging me into their wars."

Soren's hand tightened on his.

"Will you come with me, Soren?"

The grip relaxed and soft weight pressed onto the armor on his arm. He looked down to see Soren leaning against him. "When do we leave?"

Ike knew the idea of leaving Tellius should be frightening, but with Soren by his side? It seemed like they could overcome anything.


End file.
